Archives for November 2012

Nobody likes “that guy.” You know, “that guy”—the person who breaks social etiquette by saying or doing something awkward, inappropriate, or downright stupid; you know, the guy who drives 55 mph in the left lane when traffic is flowing at 70, the guy who wears enough cologne to make grandma say, “Damn!”, and the drunk guy who gets too loud at a party. Yeah, that guy. Nobody likes “that guy.” In fact, most people don’t even like being friends with that guy; it’s embarrassing.

Unfortunately, all of us, from time to time, are “that guy.” I’ve been “that guy” who holds up traffic at a tollbooth as I desperately search for 50 cents in a change compartment full of pennies; I’ve been “that guy” who makes off-color jokes at a dinner party that makes everyone cringe; and once I was even “that guy” who asked a woman how far along she was in her pregnancy when she wasn’t even pregnant!

Being “that guy” is awful and it feels terrible, which is why we sometimes struggle to admit when we’re being “that guy.” But the only thing worse than being “that guy” is being “that guy” who refuses to admit when he’s being “that guy.”  Now “that guy” is a self-righteous ass; that’s the guy who insists that he didn’t say anything inappropriate, and that’s the guy who never does anything wrong.

As much as I hate to admit it, I can be “that guy.” I sometimes ask, “What did I say?” when I’ve clearly said something I shouldn’t have, and “What did I do?” when I’ve done something wrong. Fortunately, however, there are people in my life who don’t let me get away with it. I have friends who tell me when I’m being “that guy” and insist that I’m being an ass when I try to deny it. I’m grateful for those friends because, without them, I eventually wouldn’t have any friends at all.

I write about “that guy” because ever since the presidential election came to an end, “that guy” has been showing up everywhere—television, radio, and every form of social media—arguing that Romney was the better candidate, the more righteous candidate, and that he should have won the election. Nobody likes “that guy”—the poor sport who every time his team loses has some sort of reason or excuse for why they lost or why they deserved to win. Whether he’s willing to admit it or not, “that guy” is unable to be a gracious loser because he has a superiority complex and, therefore, tends to cry foul and pout like a petulant child when things don’t go his way.

Since the election, however, “that guy” has not only been the poor sport who can’t lose with grace, “that guy” has also been the poor sport who can’t win with class. As much as he might try to restrain himself, “that guy” can’t help but gloat with self-righteous indignation, rubbing the losers’ faces in it.

So here’s the bottom line: in the aftermath of the presidential election, “that guy” is showing up everywhere, and although it’s easier to just keep your distance, if “that guy” is your friend, you might want to let him know that he’s being an ass, because in the end, nobody wants to be friends with “that guy.”

Hurricane Sandy hits home for me—really close to home. I grew up on Sandy Lane, forty minutes from the sandy beaches that hurricane Sandy pounded a few days ago. For me and millions of other people, the Jersey shore is synonymous with summer. Whether your family took day-trips to a local beach or week-long vacations on LBI, the Jersey shore has been a second home for many of us, a home that has been washed away. The boardwalk at Seaside Heights—our teenage playground on cool summer nights—is gone. And now, in the calm after the storm, instead of hearing the click, click, click of wheels spinning on the boardwalk, silence hovers over mile after mile of debris.

We are, however, resilient creatures. Soon the buzz of chainsaws and the rumble of bulldozers will fill the air as we start cleaning up the mess. In a few months the crack of hammers driving nails into plywood will echo up and down the coast. And before we know it, the click, click, click will be back on the boardwalk again. In the end, the Jersey shore will be bigger and better than ever before, and we will unconsciously thumb our noses at the forces of nature, proclaiming our resolve to build and rebuild whatever we want, wherever we want.

This post, though, is not about our resiliency or our ability to transcend our differences and come together for a common cause (although that makes for a nice story). This post is about the small window of time between the end of a disaster and the beginning of recovery—a window through which we catch a glimpse of reality and are reminded of what it means to be human.

You see, in the calm after the storm we stare in disbelief, trying to wrap our minds around the landscape of destruction. In surveying the wreckage we are overwhelmed by the reality of how small we truly are. This realization can be unnerving, causing some to scurry, frantically trying to “fix it,” hoping to regain the illusion of control; while for others, this realization is a helpful reminder that we are only human and that we are never, ever, truly in control. This humbling realization is what causes people to thank God after surviving a natural disaster, and why, for at least a few days, their hugs are a little tighter, their kisses last a little longer, and their words, “I love you,” flow with a little more heart.

So if Hurricane Sandy pounding the Jersey shore hits home for you, I would like to encourage you to visit the coastline sometime in the next few months—before it’s bigger and better—because it will never be the same. And if you’re able to look across the landscape of destruction and get past the unnerving realization of how small you truly are, I promise you’ll gain a renewed sense of what it means to be human: you’ll reminisce about the good times you’ve had there in the past, you’ll be grateful for the life you have today, and you’ll look forward to the memories yet to come.